


No light without the darkness, no darkness without the light

by Lakritzwolf



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types, Return to Treasure Island (TV 1996)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 03:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14907845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakritzwolf/pseuds/Lakritzwolf
Summary: They stand on opposite sides of the eternal war, and yet something binds them, draws them, and finally, undoes them. But fate can also have mercy.





	No light without the darkness, no darkness without the light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Khim_Azaghal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khim_Azaghal/gifts).



> Birthday present for my dear, dear friend Khim!

The first time they meet on the battlefield, part of the eternal war that is part of the balance of the core of the world. Darkness and Light, good and evil, the purity and honour of angels against the fiery hate of the demons.

The moment their eyes meet, he knows he is doomed.

Angelic blade meets the fiery sword of the demon. And the moment their eyes meet he feels a piece of his soul torn off and swallowed by the darkness. The darkness that is part of every demon, him as well.

The angel has been tainted by darkness. He keeps it within, but he knows that one day, one day soon, the darkness that touched him will consume him.

His eyes, although they have been almost hidden by shadow, keep on haunting him in every waking hour. They keep on haunting him into his dreams. But in those dreams...

In those dreams, these eyes are warm, not cold and pitch-black. His lips are soft and no thin, cruel line. His hands are not stained with blood and death and suffering. His words are no maddened chant of bloodlust, cruelty and war.  
The angel knows he is doomed when the fire of lust begins to eat at a faraway corner of his soul. He cannot stop it. Their bodies entangled, their lips claiming each other’s in gentle passion. And they would join their bodies, roll into a fire, and be consumed by the flames both outside and within them.

He awakens in tears every time, because every time that fire inside him was still burning as he had no means to slake it. Every time he awakes in tears because he knows how wrong it is to be feeling like this towards a creature like him. He knows. Help it, he cannot. Is it love? Or purely lust?

And yet, he does not only lust for him. In his dreams, his love would make the fallen one see the light again, guide him back, away from his path of evil, would make him forswear the darkness he worships. But was this love? Wanting to save a soul? Is love supposed to feel this way? Is love a blade piercing your heart and tainting your blood? Or is he only wishing to save his soul so he can enjoy his body in good conscience?

No one must ever know. He knows that even none of his kind is perfect. But this mistake will be his undoing. Nothing can save him.

When he meets him again, a millennium of empty pain has passed. And they stand facing each other again, dark blade meeting golden one.

But yet, he feels as if he sees a flicker in the demon’s eyes, a hint of emotion that mirrors to his own, speak to him on a level he cannot fathom, and yet he was sure he must have imagined it. A creature such as he could never love. And yet....

And yet he sees it in his eyes. As if their souls touch for a fraction of a second, two sides of a coin, two edges of a blade. Light and darkness. Darkness and light.

But there is no light without the darkness. And there is no darkness without the light.

He is his heart’s greatest desire. And his soul’s darkest secret.

* * *

A demon never allows himself a weakness. He has served and obeyed, has fought and conquered. Walked among mortals, tainting their souls, faced the forces of light in a battle he knew could not be won.

He has grown up strong in mind and in body, shied from no pain and no ordeal until his body and soul were made from steel, his mind the edge of a blade, a weapon in the hands of his masters.

And then he meets him. And all his will of mind and body suddenly receives a blow he feels himself unable to recover from. As if he has received a poisoned wound that will fester no matter how many times he would cauterize it with the hot iron of his will. And he is confronted with a feeling that he cannot master, something that has taken hold of him like a curse.

The way the angel looks at him is no different than how countless other creatures of light have looked at him. Appalled. Afraid. Terrified. Determined to bring him to his end. If these looks have ever caused any kind of feeling inside him, it is a desire to erase the light in their eyes, to face the challenge and diminish the enemy’s numbers.

But the look this angel gives him had causes him a deeply stinging unease, like a needle, no, more like a blade, a fine, narrow, silver dagger that he buries up to the hilt into his heart with those bright, silver eyes of his.

Of course he takes up his sword again, a blade of darkness meets one of light, a fight in thousands that will not make a difference. Would that they have a common goal. Would that they were not separated by everything that makes them.

He has corrupted more than one creature of light in his existence. He knows he can corrupt this one too. The golden light would fade, the snow-white wings turn to dark, torn skin, the blood turn black. And then they would be equals.

But it is not what he wants. He does not want to see the light fade from his eyes. He does not want the angel to fall like he himself had fallen. Does not want him to suffer what he has suffered.

He himself has fallen like the others, the light no longer his. He cannot follow the angel, and the angel cannot follow him.

And no one must ever know about that dagger in his heart. A dagger that he takes by the hilt, twisting it around the second time they meet. His eyes pleading, as if he is about to ask him to forswear the darkness.

He does not speak, and neither does the angel. But for a second, they both recognise in the other something that will leave them forever unfulfilled if it remains unclaimed.

He knew it is impossible for him to ever feel something other than terror and revulsion, but in that split second their eyes meet their souls touch across the abyss their bodies will and can never breach.

The dagger in his heart makes him vulnerable. Suddenly, he is weak because he is afraid. Afraid the golden one will lose. Afraid of seeing him fall. He had never known fear before, for no one and nothing.

But the thought of the angel falling turns his very bones to ice. And no one can ever know.

He is his heart’s greatest desire. And his soul’s darkest secret.

* * *

The third time they meet it is in the mortal realm. Demons walk the earth brazenly these days, and he is a hunter, like the others. Masked to mortal eyes they try and drive the darkness back to where it belongs.

They both wear different bodies here. No wings, no fiery blades, their true forms hidden under their skin.

They are being tested, as it seems. For why else would they meet here, again, at this time, in this place, in these bodies?

Their gazes meet, and they see their end in each other’s eyes. They have been tested, and they have failed.

Dark and hidden thoughts kept secret for millennia suddenly spring free, burst out of them and neither is able to stop.

It is carnal desire when the angel closes his eyes and gives up, knowing that the gates of heaven will never open for him again.

It is tender passion when the demon allows the angel’s lips to claim his, and hands roam in gentle caress when before claws have left marks in pure, white skin.

They both mark each other, in body and in soul. The demon’s eyes have faded from blackness to dark brown. They look strangely human, mortal almost, and he knows that he has doomed him with his desire. He himself is doomed as well.

He cannot bring himself to care.

Were they mortals, they could escape from their masters and hide. But their masters are no mortal men, and this flesh they wear is not their own. They have this one moment to claim what they craved and what they will never have again.

* * *

He has fought his dark desires, without success. And when he meets him again on the mortal plane he knows it is over. Their desires are both their end, and both their souls will fade into annihilation. The pain is tearing him apart, but he knows that the angel has made the choice. He has not corrupted him in deeds and purpose. They have been tested, and they have failed.

It is the end, and they claim each other now, in this flesh, as they would never be able to touch in their true forms. Limbs entwined, lips joined, heart to heart. Mortal hearts. And the moment they will shed these bodies, their souls will no longer be able to turn back.

They are damned now. They will cease to exist.

It is the last, desperate fire of passion that consumes them before the bitter end.

They weep in each other’s arms. He cannot remember ever having shed tears. He has not believed he even has them. But the damage is done, and he sees the silver light in the angel’s eyes fade to a bright blue, like the sky above them.

There is only sky, the heavens are locked to him now. And corrupted as they were by light and darkness both, he has no way back either.

The sun rises, and darkness claims them in their last kiss.

* * *

Music is blaring out of the speakers, the rhythm thrumming in your diaphragm and in your head, you have to scream to be heard, and the noise is a cacophony from hell.

Their eyes meet across the room, past dozens of dancing people, all in various stages of drunkenness.

Blue and brown, tall and dark the one and lithe and elegant the other.

And in their gaze is puzzlement, as if they both feel they have met the other before and cannot remember when and where.

They make their way towards each other, and in mute agreement leave the party and the people and the smell of sweat and booze and find themselves in the back garden hidden from view by a hedge, below the star-dusted infinity stretching above them.

“I feel I should know you,” the tall and dark one says. “But fuck if I know where and when I met you.”  
The blonde one chuckles and then smiles, and dimples appear on his cheeks. “The feeling is entirely mutual, mate.”

Their eyes meet again, and their smiles vanish.

“I... I forgot your name,” the tall one says.  
“I don’t think I ever told you,” the blonde one replied.

Another eternity passes that cannot have lasted longer than a few heartbeats.

“I... um.” Even ten fingers trying to sort through the dark curls cannot tame that mane. “Ross. Ross Poldark.”  
“Jim.” The blonde one steps a little closer. “Jim Hawkins. Nice to meet you. Again. I guess.”

And then they step closer, and they have their arms around each other, not knowing what is happening to them but unable, and unwilling, to resist. Their lips meet and suddenly everything falls into place, and everything is as it always should have been.

Their minds cannot remember, but their souls do.


End file.
